


The Stars Are Dancing On The Carpet Of The Sky

by CaptainLeBubbles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Crowley Adopts The Surplus Baby, M/M, someone had to write surplus baby adoption that actually took book canon into account, still important characters though not in the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-07-09 02:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19880113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: Crowley would not be able to say later why he'd decided to take the surplus baby. Why he'dgone backfor him. But the deed was done and the future was locked in: Crowley, now a father, has just one more reason to stop the world from ending.





	1. it's time to dream

**Author's Note:**

> I really love the _idea_ of Crowley and/or Aziraphale acquiring the surplus baby, but every one I've read just sort of ignores the book's canon, which I blame on the show for not acknowledging Greasy Johnson's existence. Anyway, _this_ is a surplus baby story that actually does take the canon surplus baby into account, just gives him different parents.
> 
> Don't expect this fic to be, like, good or anything, it's just a silly thing I'm writing over on the tumble.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes a choice.

“What’re you going to do with him?” Crowley asked, indicating the surplus baby that Sister Mary was currently fussing with. Christ- er, Antichrist- what was it with this woman and babies?

“We’re going to have him adopted out,” she said, paying him minimal attention in favor of tickling the baby in question on his ‘chinny-winny’. Crowley peeked over the edge of the bassinet, curious.

He was a big one, this kid. Took after his dad, from what little Crowley had seen when he was shown the adoptive parents of his master’s son. Golden curls, just like the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. And he was remarkably chunky, with a set of vivid blue eyes that gazed up at Sister Mary with adoration while he gurgled and cooed and lapped up the attention.

“Well,” Crowley said, a bit taken aback. “That’s all right then, I guess.”

-/-

Crowley didn’t know why he kept thinking of the surplus baby. He couldn’t get those eyes out of his head- he was always a bit weak for a pair of pretty blue eyes, that was it. [1] The surplus baby had looked at him the way Aziraphale sometimes did, an adoring look like Crowley was the greatest thing he’d ever seen. [2]

And he’d just been talking to Aziraphale just before then, having called him from the hospital (good thing he remembered about the mobile lines being down), so naturally Aziraphale was on his mind and then being confronted with a baby who shared some superficial resemblance to the angel- blond curls, pretty blue eyes, delightfully chunky- it was only to be assumed that said baby would stick in his head while he thought of how he was going to go about convincing Aziraphale to help him avert the apocalypse.

 _Adopted out,_ that nun had said. That was all right- he could grow up in a nice English home with nice English parents, and his life would be far less of the circus that it would have been if Hell hadn’t interfered with him.

 _Shit,_ he thought, and slammed on brakes. He turned the Bentley in a wild u-turn and headed back to the hospital. “Shit,” he said out loud.

Face it- did he _really_ expect a bunch of Satanists to do something like this correctly?

-/-

It was embarrassingly easy to convince the nuns to give him the surplus baby. They didn’t even ask for an explanation, just handed him over. He supposed it was to do with being a demon and thus a direct line to their master, but still. Someone should have at least _wondered_ what a demon wanted with a baby.

Of course, if they’d asked, he’d have had to admit that he wasn’t really _sure_.

He found himself sitting outside on the steps, staring down at the little bundle in his lap, wondering exactly what _was_ he going to do with this baby, when the man he’d passed by earlier came out.

“Ah, Doctor,” he said. Oh, right, he’d assumed Crowley to be a doctor. All right then, why not. Behind him, the man shuffled lightly, and Crowley was dimly aware of him putting his pipe away before sitting down. “Yours?”

“He is now,” Crowley said absently, and hastily added, lest there be questions, “Foundling. He’s, uh, he hasn’t got anyone. So. I guess he’s mine now.”

“Lucky boy,” the man said. “Being found by someone willing to take him on, I mean. Someone else might have- well- you know.”

“Passed by on the other side,” Crowley murmured.

“Right.” He sounded chirpy, and fished around in his pockets. “I brought- I mean, obviously we can’t smoke them with the baby here, but- you know. To fatherhood.”

And held out a cigar. Crowley stared at it blankly for a moment before taking it and giving the man a weak smile. _What_ was he going to _do_? “To fatherhood.”

-/-

When Aziraphale met up with Crowley in the park next morning, he assumed the basket sitting beside his friend on the bench was their lunch, since Crowley was in the habit of turning their meetings into lunch dates if he could. Granted, a picnic was unusual, but it wouldn’t be amiss, and occasionally Crowley did like to test the waters, see if Aziraphale was willing to go a little faster.

(Aziraphale had the thought that he might not mind a picnic, and set aside a part of his attention to preparing to let Crowley tempt him into one before turning the majority of his attention to the impending Armageddon.)

Crowley gave him a brief rundown of the situation, glossing over details in order to get straight to the point.

“An _American diplomat_?” Aziraphale asked, incredulous, and the basket beside Crowley made fussy noises. Aziraphale froze. “Crowley.”

“Hm?” Crowley was only half-paying him any attention, the other half turning to the basket and opening it to reach in side.

“That’s not our lunch, is it?”

And then Crowley took out a baby, an entire baby, and tucked said baby into his arms and made shushy noises.

“Crowley, you _didn’t_ ,” Aziraphale gasped.

“Didn’t what?”

“Is that…” Aziraphale chanced a peek into the blanket. “…him?”

“What? No!” The outburst made the baby start fussing again, and Aziraphale had to wait several long, uncomfortable moments while Crowley went about calming him once more. Once he had, he turned back to Aziraphale again. “He’s the surplus baby- the one the Antichrist was swapped with. I got the nuns to give me him for… well, for some reason. Just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes in fond-if-you-were-looking-closely-enough exasperation. “May I hold him?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Crowley passed the baby over carefully, and Aziraphale settled back, letting the tiny infant settle against his soft shoulder while he made gentle, soothing noises.

He opened his mouth to ask Crowley what he meant to do with the baby, only for his gaze to land on how Crowley was _looking_ at them, like Aziraphale was holding the whole world in his arms.

He closed his mouth. No point asking after all, was there?

Instead, he asked, “Have you named him yet?”

“Oh. Hadn’t really thought of that bit.”

“That’s not surprising, you still don’t know what the J in your own name stands for.”

“It stands for lots of things!”

“ _Crowley_.”

“You can help me. Come on, let’s go get some lunch and decide on a name for him.”

“We’ll need to stop and get… baby things… first.”

“Oh, right.” Crowley hauled himself to his feet and grabbed the basket, then helped Aziraphale up as well, careful of the treasured bundle still sleeping against his shoulder.

-/-

Crowley had not, previously, been entirely sure if there was anything he could do to stop the Apocalypse from happening. It had been worked toward for millenia, after all, and while he was sure they could make a token effort, he was equally sure that there wasn’t much they could actually _do._

Sitting here in the park, though, looking at Aziraphale holding his- and he was his, wasn’t he?- baby, there was something he could say for sure: he’d be damned all over if he was going to let this end in eleven years.

-/-

“Damian?”

“Really, my dear? Jacob.”

“Too righteous. Asmodeus.”

“Didn’t I suggest that to you, once? Jonah.”

“Too Biblical. Roger.”

“No. Joshua.”

“Are you suggesting J names on purpose? Ezra.”

Aziraphale spared a moment of flattery. “Perhaps a bit. John? Or Johnathan, if it’s too short.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, and then stopped. “Johnathan,” he said, mulling it over. “I think I like that one.”

Aziraphale got up and moved over to the bassinet they’d persuaded the baby’s basket to become, and leaned on it to look at the baby. “He does look a bit like a Johnathan.”

And then Crowley was behind him. “You think?” He rolled the name over for a moment longer, and beamed. “Johnathan it is, then.”

-/-

[1- In the right face, of course. He didn’t fall for them in the face of, say, Beelzebub, who also had a pair of pretty blue eyes.]

[2- Crowley would read into that, but he’d also seen Aziraphale give exactly that sort of look to a particularly rare book of prophecy, a plate of crepes, and more food service employees than even Crowley could keep count of.]


	2. but a gentle someone always came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a year, they’re allowed to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were following this on Tumblr, you may notice that this is vastly different than the original part two, because I wanted to give the boys a year with Johnathan before they had to take on Warlock.
> 
> Per the book canon, Nanny and Francis took on their roles right after Warlock’s birth, but the book also implied that Crowley and Aziraphale had agents sent to act as proxies for them. Per the show canon, Aziraphale and Crowley were Francis and Nanny, but the show also had them wait five years. For this au, which is meant to draw on the book things that the show left out, I’ve met somewhere between those, and had them pick up a year after Warlock’s birth.

2.

So. In the past twenty-four hours, Crowley had,

One, adopted a baby,

Two, convinced Aziraphale to help him raise said baby, and

Three, convinced Aziraphale to raise a second baby with him at the same time.

Which was why, after leaving Johnathan sleeping in Aziraphale’s backroom under the angel’s watchful eye, Crowley had gone off to his flat in Mayfair and gotten quite extraordinarily drunk.

Aziraphale thought he was babyproofing the flat. “We can’t raise him here, I can’t possibly babyproof this place.” True, Crowley would be babyproofing his flat, once he’d sobered up. But for now he was just getting drunk. One last hoorah, before the next eleven years would be spent in constant childcare.

Crowley sighed and sprawled out onto his couch. He really should think these things through more often.

-/-

Johnathan was a fussy sort of baby, it turned out. Well, Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. He’d been taken from his mother mere moments after birth, not allowed for that rather crucial bond to form. Now he was in the care of an angel and a demon who would probably get into a lot of trouble if he was discovered on either side, and who were both about to throw themselves into a job that would steal more of their attention than was fair.

“Poor little seedling,” Aziraphale murmured, lifting the infant from his bed and settling him very gently into his arms. He miracled up a bottle of milk- the real stuff, because that’s what the baby would need, not formula- and murmured sweet nothings at him while he fed. 

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “I know things look rather bleak right now, but I promise you, I won’t allow you to come to harm- and I know Crowley feels the same way.” He shook his wings free, folding them around himself and the babe, creating a warm cocoon of soothing radiance, or at least metaphorical radiance, because the intense light probably wasn’t good for him. “There, now you’re safe, sweet boy.”

-/-

By the time Johnathan was one month old, he Knew a total of five things that he was unable to articulate or even put into coherent thought, being only a month old and all.

One, he Knew that he was Loved. The two beings who took care of him told him often, though he couldn’t understand them, and they showed it, which he could. He could feel it from them every time one of them picked him up and held him close, every time they fed him, changed his diapers, rocked him to sleep, soothed any fussiness he felt, or just kept him near while they went about their usual business.

Two, he Knew that he was Safe. He knew it because the beings who took care of him always protected him from anything scary. When the bright lights were too much for his tiny, new eyes, one of them would place themselves between him and the light. When hunger gnawed at his insides and he feared his existence would come to an end, one of them always soothed his cries with food. Once, he had been napping when shouting had woken him, and he’d felt Fear even though he didn’t even know what Fear was, and he’d cried and cried and then the shouting had stopped abruptly and he was being held and soothed, and the shouting never came back.

Three, he Knew that the beings who took care of him Loved each other. That one he could not explain, even were he capable of such things, because he didn’t really notice much outside of his own immediate existence. But he could  _ feel _ it, the way they were when they were all together, versus how they were when he was only with one of them. It was obvious, as obvious to him as that he had these wiggly things at the end of his arms that tasted so nice when he sucked on them, or that after he ate he hurt and hurt and hurt until one of the beings who took care of him patted his back and the hurt went away in a sudden burst.

Four, he Knew that he Loved the beings who took care of him. All he wanted, deep in his little baby heart, was for things to always stay exactly as they were, with the beings who took care of him Loving him and each other and him Loving them, and they would always protect him from everything scary in the world and they would always be Happy-

For that was the fifth thing Johnathan Knew, that he was Happy, as Happy as a baby could be.

-/-

Johnathan was six months old when he met the Archangel Gabriel, though he didn’t know he was meeting anyone at the time. In fact, at the time it happened, all he cared about was that his tummy hurt, and his Daddy wasn’t making it better.

“My poor little seedling,” Daddy murmured, rocking him and rubbing his back and trying to make the hurting go away. “I know, my darling, I know. I’m trying.”

And then there was a shift in the air, and Daddy tensed under him, and Johnathan started wailing louder.

“Gabriel,” Daddy said, and then started rocking again when he realized that Johnathan was crying harder than he’d been. “It’s all right, shh, shh, it’s all right. What a surprise! What- ah, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Aziraphale,” said the person that was making Daddy upset, and then there was a pause and the very air became tense. “Why do you have a human child?”

“Oh- well- don’t you think it’s important to get practice dealing with human children before I put my time into influencing one?”

“Yes, of course. That makes sense. So you’ve… got the use of this one?”

“His father will be here in a little while,” Daddy said, a little hurriedly. “You, er, wanted something?”

Johnathan was still wailing. He didn’t like this, Daddy was too tense, too unhappy, and his tummy still hurt, he didn’t like this at all.

“Just, ah, checking in. We were wondering when you were planning to implement your little scheme with the Antichrist child.”

“That. Yes. I know, darling, shhhh, it’s all right- I’m waiting for the demon Crowley to make his move. It wouldn’t be much good if I put myself in a position where I’m unable to counter him properly. I assure you, it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“I see. Well. I’ll leave you to it, then. You should- uh- do something about this one’s crying.”

The air shifted again, and the being that was upsetting Daddy was gone. Johnathan carried on wailing anyway; he’d got started, and wasn’t quite sure how to stop at this point. Daddy let out a little whimper and carried on rocking him, making shushing noises that were absolutely not helping.

Daddy sighed. “I know we said we were going to keep miracling to a minimum, but I do so hate to see you suffer. You won’t tell Daddy if I heal you, will you, my dearest? Of course not, there you are…”

And just like that, all of the hurting and discomfort was gone. Daddy was still upset, and Johnathan was still unhappy, but the change in condition was enough to startle him from crying, and now that he’d stopped he didn’t see much use in starting back again. He gave a content noise and leaned his head on Daddy’s shoulder, sticking his fingers into his mouth and settling in for a nice sleep. Crying and hurting were  _ exhausting _ work, after all.

-/-

True to Aziraphale’s words, Crowley arrived a few hours later. By then Johnathan had woken and was back to fussing- Aziraphale had soothed his tummyache, but not removed it entirely.

“Poor little duckling,” Crowley said, lifting Johnathan from his bassinet in the backroom. “Did Daddy overfeed you again?”

“I do  _ not _ overfeed him,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes at Crowley’s teasing look. “Gabriel came by earlier.”

Crowley froze. “What did he want? And what did he say about…” He nodded toward Johnathan, who was fussing again now that Crowley had tensed as well.

“I implied that I was just looking after him as a bit of practice before I took on guiding the Antichrist child.” Aziraphale moved over to collapse with a huff into the sofa. “And he wanted to know when I was going to begin.”

Crowley came to sit beside him, and Aziraphale leaned into him, eyes fixed on the baby but his warmth seeping into Crowley as well.

“I’m working on it. Been putting a bug in Dowling’s ear that maybe being a full time mum is too tiring for his wife, maybe he should hire a nanny, been putting the bug in the wife’s ear that she’ll have more time to be a socialite and support her husband’s career if she can shunt off some of the burden of childcare onto a nanny, been putting the bug into security’s ear that it’ll be easier to keep the Dowling family safe if they have someone dedicated to look after the baby specifically, and, per your request, I’ve been putting the bug into the gardener’s ear that he’d really like to retire to South Downs and live out the rest of his life by the sea.”

“And?”

“And these things take  _ time. _ Don’t they, duckling?” he added to Johnathan, who was starting to settle now that his tummy hurt a little bit less. He also, coincidentally, was starting to smell very badly in the nappy regions. Crowley clamped his mouth shut. Sometimes having a serpent’s tongue wasn’t the best thing in the world.

“I’ll take this one,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley passed him over gratefully. “You’re going to be doing the lion’s share of diaper duty with Warlock, if you mean to take on the role of nanny.”

Crowley groaned and let his head fall back. He hadn’t thought of that.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to get the mother’s assistant to change careers so he could take over  _ that _ job instead.

-/-

When Johnathan was nine months old, Mummy came home all smiles and excitement.

“Angel,” he said, which Johnathan had learned was a special name for Daddy, “I’ve got  _ great _ news. As for you-“ He scooped Johnathan out of his playpen and blew a raspberry against his neck, which made Johnathan giggle and squirm against him. “I brought you a present, duckling.”

He switched him to one arm and reached into his jacket, and then set something on Johnathan’s face. Johnathan reached for whatever it was, trying to grab, and Mummy took him over to look in a mirror.

“Look at that- I got you some just like mine! What’d’you think? Now you and Mummy match!”

“Muh!” Johnathan said, grabbing for the sunglasses he was wearing. They fit way better than Mummy’s, which he occasionally put on him as a joke.

Behind them, a thump as something hit the floor, and there was Daddy.

“Did he just-?” Daddy said, and Mummy nodded.

“He did!” And then Johnathan was being tossed into the air. “Hear that, angel?  _ Muh. _ That means he likes me best.”

“Oh  _ honestly. _ He doesn’t like either of us best. Muh is just an easier syllable to form that Duh, that’s all.”

Mummy gave Daddy a smug look. “You really believe that?”

“Muh!” Johnathan said again, reaching for Daddy, who returned Mummy’s smug look with one of his own. “Muh!”

“There you are then,” he said, taking Johnathan automatically. “We’re both Daddy. I suppose we must both be Mummy then too.”

“Or it’s just the only syllable he can say, but he said it to  _ me _ first.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, dear,” Daddy said, and gave Johnathan little happy kisses all over his messy curls. “You said you had good news?”

“Oh, right!” Mummy beamed. “I finally got the Dowlings to break down on the Nanny thing! They’re going to start looking soon, and I’ve got the gardener signing for a cottage in the South Downs, so he’ll be leaving soon too. Everything’s finally falling into place.”

“That’s  _ splendid, _ dear! But- I’ve been thinking. What are we going to do about- well-“ He nodded at Johnathan, who was fussing to get down. He set him back in his playpen and joined Mummy on the sofa. “You can’t spend time parenting him if you’re going to be Nanny.”

“The gardener has a cottage on the grounds,” Mummy said. “No reason the gardener can’t have a son.”

“Yes, of course, but I don’t mean the practicalities. I just mean…” He shifted as Mummy leaned aside, resting his head on Daddy’s shoulder. “I’ve rather enjoyed these past months with you, Crowley.”

“I know, angel,” Mummy said, and raised an arm to drape around Daddy’s middle. “We’ll make it work, we’ll figure something out.”

-/-

On Johnathan’s first birthday, Aziraphale and Crowley took him to a kid-friendly restaurant that Aziraphale knew about. It wasn’t a real birthday party- they didn’t really have any family friends, and while Johnathan had a playgroup, neither of his parents had really formed a bond of any sort with the other parents, nor he the other children, for that matter. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to remember his birthday- they just wanted to do  _ something _ to mark that it was  _ his, _ because tomorrow they were going to join the Dowling household and everything was going to change. He wouldn’t get to be the center of his parents’ world anymore, for one thing.

It was, perhaps, for this reason that Crowley was a little clingier than usual. At least Aziraphale would be able to keep Johnathan with him, for all that he would now be doing most of the child-rearing alone.

While they sat waiting for their food, a second family was seated at the table next to theirs. They had two children, a five or six year old with messy golden pigtails and at least two missing teeth, and a baby about Johnathan’s age. When he saw Johnathan seated across the aisle from him, he reached for the other baby, drawing his parents’ attention.

“Making friends, Adam?” the mother asked, reaching over to stroke his hair fondly. The dad, meanwhile, looked to Aziraphale and Crowley, and then did a double-take, at approximately the same time Crowley’s eyebrows shot up in utter shock.

“You!” Crowley said, at the same time the father said, “Doctor?”

“Fancy that,” the father went on. “Small world, isn’t it?”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. “You know these people?” [1]

“Wh- oh- yeah, they uh. Their baby was born at the hospital the same night that, uh…” He looked over at Johnathan meaningfully.

“Oh! It  _ is _ a small world, isn’t it?” Aziraphale beamed. “And that means it must be your little one’s birthday as well- Adam, did you call him?” The babies had, for much of the conversation, been reaching for each other, and now Aziraphale reached over and ran a soothing hand through the wild array of curls on Johnathan’s head, calming him a bit.

“You’d think they were old friends,” the mother said, amused by their antics.

“Well.” Crowley shrugged. “They were in the nursery together, you know. Never forget your first friends, right?”

This was taken for a joke, though honestly Crowley wouldn’t put it past either of them to have been affected by their proximity to the Antichrist and  _ remember _ having been together for a bit. Still, he wasn’t exactly going to  _ mention _ this, so when the father stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Arthur Young (and his wife as Deirdre, his daughter as Sarah), Crowley returned the handshake and pretended there was nothing at all odd about the circumstances that had brought him his son.

“Crowley,” he said, not one for complex introductions. “And, uh,” dammit- blessit- what was Aziraphale’s alias these days?

“Azure Fell,” he said, reaching out a hand as well before Crowley’s fumble could be noticed. “Lovely to meet you. I feel like we must be family- considering the circumstances, I mean.”

“Why’ve you got sunglasses?” Sarah asked suddenly, to dual admonishments from her parents. “What? He’s inside and he’s got sunglasses!”

“No no, it’s a fair question,” Crowley said, when she was scolded once more. “Kids always ask about anything they haven’t encountered before, it’s how they learn. Give me the open honest curiosity of a child over the assumptions of assholery from an adult who should know better any day.”

“That’s not a nice word,” Sarah said, leaning back a little as Crowley leaned down so they were face to face.

“You want to know? It’s because I’m a demon, one of hell’s agents of temptation, and the originator of sin, and my eyes betray my nature, so I have to hide them from humans lest I find myself the constant subject of exorcisms.”

He let his glasses slip down his nose so she could see the golden irises, the slit pupils, and gave her the cheery nose scrunch that was for him the same as a wink. She let out a gasp halfway between terror and delight, and Aziraphale said, “Crowley!” in that tone of his. Crowley straightened up, glasses back in place, and reached over to tweak one of Sarah’s pigtails playfully.

“I have a medical condition,” he said, much more matter-of-fact. “Makes my eyes look all snakey and light doesn’t do me any favors.”

Sarah considered this, and nodded. “Being a demon sounds more fun,” she said, and climbed back up into her seat. Crowley let out a bark of laughter.

“Doesn’t it?”

“Sorry about her,” Arthur said, and Crowley waved it away.

“It’s fine. It’s how they learn. Now she knows if she sees a person with sunglasses indoors, they have some medical reason to wear them.”

“Or she’ll just assume they’re a demon,” Aziraphale said, glaring at Crowley, though Crowley didn’t think that was at all a bad thing.

-/-

The day after Warlock Dowling turned one, three new people joined the Dowling household.

One was Nanny Ashtoreth, who would take on the bulk of the legwork in looking after Warlock, freeing up his mother to tend to her own affairs a bit more. Ashtoreth was a Nanny of the old school, stern and severe and not the sort of woman one crossed willingly, but the moment Warlock was in her arms she melted, and the Dowlings melted as well. This, they could see instantly, was a woman who knew her way around a baby. (It also helped her case that she was the only applicant.)

One was Brother Francis, who would be taking over for the old Gardener, who had retired to South Downs recently after a long and rewarding career. Francis was an odd-looking fellow, but almost immediately this was forgotten in favor of how warm and inviting he was as a person- and, as various members of staff found out over the following years, he made the best tea and gave the best hugs, and was always there for anyone who needed a listening ear. (He also never picked up a spade once in the five years he worked for the Dowlings, but the gardens tended to be gorgeous anyway, so no one minded.)

The third was Baby Johnathan, Brother Francis’s son, who was a year old and spent his entire first day on the grounds sobbing. Brother Francis explained that he missed his other parent, the poor dear, and the staff all tutted and said privately what a pity it was, a child without his mother at such a young age, and a kind man like Brother Francis left all alone to raise him. But apart from his wails he was a healthy baby, built on a slightly larger scale than the average baby, with the same pleasant plumpness and golden halo of curls as his father, and over the following weeks, as he adjusted, it became apparent that there was no child in the world so beloved as little Johnathan was. (His parents were completely unaware that Francis’s words were taken in the way that they were, but they would find out eventually.)

And thus began Baby Johnathan’s second year on earth, as the countdown to Armageddon ticked down to a decade to go.

-/-

[1- He didn’t bother asking about the doctor thing. Mainly because he knew Crowley used all sorts of covers to do his work; partly also because Crowley bore a strong resemblance to Doctor Who, and it wouldn’t be the first time he had been referred to as such.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey anyone remember how Adam had an older sister? I didn’t expect her to turn up in this fic, but it seems fitting, since she, like Greasy Johnson, was left out of the show, likely for practical reasons but it’s still disappointing. At this rate, don’t be surprised if Grievous Bodily Harm and the others also turn up- I was openly disappointed by their getting cut out. (Pepper’s sister will also be making an appearance; this fic is suddenly less about Greasy Johnson and more about SICTNITM. Or I guess that would bout SICTNITS?)
> 
> (Bonus points to anyone who gets that incredibly obscure reference.)


	3. on the edge of summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And everyone says what a pity, the boy’s mother is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a little bit more generous about the Dowlings in this than most of the fandom. While I understand why a lot of people choose the uninterested/inattentive/neglectful angles, I feel like the text supports a more loving interpretation just as easily— I’ve chosen to write them as parents who love their son, they just aren’t very good at it. Aziraphale and Crowley are there less to replace them as Warlock’s “true” loving parents, more to fill in the gaps where they fall short.

It was nearly a week into Nanny Ashtoreth’s employ that Crowley was able to slip away from his charge, leaving him in the arms of his father- finally home after days away, eager to spend time with his family again- and stealing out of the house, down the grounds to the little cottage past the garden. Nanny had a room near Warlock’s so she could listen for him in the night; Crowley had been unable to leave him unattended, not when that first night he’d sobbed and fretted over troubled dreams and fallen asleep in Nanny’s arms.

Now Crowley let himself into the cottage and was disappointed to find his own son sleeping peacefully while Aziraphale read one of the gardening books he’d brought with him. Crowley’s shoulders slumped; he disguised his disappointment behind a teasing tone and said, “Why bother with the books? We both know you’re going to just miracle around your brown thumb anyway.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was warm, Crowley thought with a pang; he could feel him all the way over here. He laid his book aside and patted the sofa beside him. Crowley took the invitation in a trice and flopped down, stringing long legs over Aziraphale’s lap and letting out a pleased hum when Aziraphale rested a hand on one ankle.

“Miss me, angel?”

“Immeasurably,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley that adoring look that Crowley had come to love, and when Crowley’s attention was inevitably pulled to Johnathan, added, “He’s missed you more, I think. Poor thing’s been pining for you for days.”

“I know how he feels,” Crowley admitted. “I wasn’t expecting separation anxiety to be  _ this _ bad. We’ve only had him a year.” He gave Johnathan another longing look, and turned his attention back to Aziraphale. ”You know, angel, Brother Francis has become a bit of a topic of household gossip these past few days.”

“Oh?”

_ “Apparently, _ everyone thinks it’s terribly sad that Francis has been left alone to raise his son all by himself, and there’s bets about what, exactly, happened to his mother.”

“What?”

“What did you tell these people, anyway?”

“I didn’t tell them anything! Well, I said that Johnathan was crying for his other parent- that’s the only mention I’ve made at all.”

“Ah.” Crowley grinned and leaned his head back on the sofa. “So now they’ve got it in their heads that you’re either tragically widowed, or some snake of a woman has left you holding the baby.”

“Oh dear.”

“Still.” To the side, Johnathan stirred in his crib, and Crowley was on his feet and at his side in an instant. When the baby only fussed a little and changed position but remained sleeping, Crowley slumped, and remained where he was. “Still,” he began again, “I don’t suppose it matters. Unless people start getting  _ ideas _ about trying to fill the void Francis  _ must _ be feeling in his life.”

“I  _ very _ much doubt that will be a problem,” Aziraphale said, and picked up his book again. “Would you like for me to read to you for a bit? I know horticulture is something you’re actually interested in.”

“Sure, why not.” He cast one last look at Johnathan and come over to the sofa, settling back down in his previous position while Aziraphale started reading aloud about the care of roses, interrupted occasionally by Crowley’s scoffing remarks when he disagreed with the advice.

It was nearly an hour later that Johnathan began to stir, fussing unhappily and pulling himself to standing in his crib. When he spotted Crowley, his face lit up, and then he was scooped out and spun around.

“Dah!” He cooed happily, and Crowley beamed.

“That’s right, duckling, Daddy’s here. For a little while, at least.”

-/-

It was one of the maids- Olivia- that first learned that Brother Francis was a beacon of peace in a frantic existence. She’d been for a late-evening walk in the gardens feeling sorry for herself when he called a greeting to her- he was perched on a bench, watching his little baby son playing in the twilight, and something about his presence seemed so  _ welcoming _ that she approached tentatively and took his invitation to join him watching the sunset.

“He’s a lovely little thing,” she said, looking for something to say. “It’s nice that he’s calmed down a bit since you both came here.”

“I think the lad’s cried himself out,” Brother Francis said with a sigh.

“The poor dear must miss his mother terribly.”

“Yes. He’s not used to only having me looking after him.” He looked aside at her. “Are you all right, miss? You seem a bit droopy.”

“Oh! Oh, don’t let me- it seems terribly silly of me, feeling sorry for myself over silly boyfriend troubles when you- I mean…” 

She trailed off, unsure of how to finish her sentence. It was unclear to the rest of the staff whether Brother Francis was widowed or divorced- some of the staff had rather cruelly remarked that a face like that wouldn’t keep a woman long, whereas others had said that a woman who could love it would only leave if they were separated by death. She wanted to ask, just to set the record straight, but that seemed a bit rude.

Whatever the truth was, he dodged it neatly by saying, “I shouldn’t think my troubles would ever be so great as to make me unable to care about someone else’s. Why don’t you tell me about it, Miss? It might make you feel better.”

She told him. She hadn’t meant to, but found that when she opened her mouth to demure, what came spilling out was an account of unfaithfulness, and abandonment, and feeling like a fool for not seeing the signs sooner. She told him about coming to London to be near him, and turning down a very good job she would have enjoyed, and her family’s warnings that she would come to a bad end if she stayed with him. He listened patiently, tutting and humming and making scandalized or sympathetic noises at all the places she would quite  _ like _ someone to tut or hum or make scandalized and sympathetic noises, and by the time she’d let the whole story out she was crying on his shoulder while he rubbed circles in her back and murmured  _ there, doesn’t that feel better? _

It  _ did _ feel better. Brother Francis was a soft, warm cup of cocoa in the calm eye of a storm, and his arms held her close while she buried herself in that comfort even past the end of her story.

The sound of heels on the pavement caught her attention and she pulled away, feeling oddly as though she’d just been caught being terribly naughty. She looked up to find Nanny Ashtoreth standing at the walk watching her, disapproval apparent even behind the dark glasses she wore at all times.

“Francis,” she said, and gave Olivia a curt nod. Olivia shrunk a little, wondering exactly what she’d done wrong.

“Ashtoreth,” Brother Francis responded, just as warm as he’d been for Olivia. “Lovely evening.”

“Yes. I was out for a walk- I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

The thought came to Olivia that if she didn’t want to interrupt, she could have just kept walking, but she kept it to herself. There was a new current to the air, something she couldn’t put a finger on, but none of that mattered when Johnathan suddenly looked up from his place on the grass and spotted Ashtoreth and called a delighted “Dah!” before running toward her with a laugh.

Olivia felt herself immediately dismissed as Ashtoreth crouched down and scooped up the little boy, burying her face in his soft curls and murmuring to him. Olivia glanced to Francis, to see how he was responding to this, and found him gazing fondly at the pair.

_ Oh, _ Olivia thought.  _ That can’t be right. _

“I’ll just be going,” she said, scurrying away while Ashtoreth carried the baby over to take her now vacated place on the bench.

As she rounded the corner, she was sure she heard Ashtoreth saying, “Honestly, angel, can’t you turn it off for one day?”, and Francis replying a cheerful, “You  _ know _ I can’t.”

_ Or maybe it is right, _ she thought.

-/-

Crowley had always liked children. It was so easy to use them to spread misery- a single inconsolable infant could ruin the day of an entire shop’s worth of people, the meals of an entire restaurant, the movie for an entire audience… and so on. Not to mention the older children, who parroted everything they heard and spilled secret thoughts and private conversations at the most inopportune moments- yes, children were a curse that seemed sent straight from hell with their ability to cause trouble.

But he’d always liked them, like, at a distance. Johnathan was the first time in a couple centuries that he’d had regular contact with a specific child and the first time in  _ millennia _ that he’d taken care of one long-term. And now he was taking care of Warlock, and he was meant to be some kind of  _ expert _ in babies…  _ why _ had he given Ashtoreth such an impressive cv? He was so used to lying to Downstairs that it had come naturally to do so with the Dowlings as well.

“It’s all right, my lad,” Crowley said, rocking Warlock soothingly as he paced slowly around the nursery. It tended to work with Johnathan, but Warlock was not Johnathan, and he wasn’t soothed the same way. He kept sobbing.

The nursery door opened and Harriet came in, looking dead on her feet.

“Everything all right, Nanny?”

“Everything’s fine,” he assured her. “Warlock and I are still learning each other, that’s all- he can’t tell me how he wants to be soothed so I have to figure it out through trial and error.”

“He likes his back rubbed,” Harriet said helpfully, dropping into the rocking chair with a tired sigh. “There’s a spot just between his shoulderblades-“

While she spoke, Crowley found the spot in question and started rubbing. This was at least familiar; his own and Aziraphale’s wings tended to ache often enough that soothing backrubs were a matter of course. The trick worked, and Warlock started to settle, cries dropping to whimpers and soft sobs instead.

“There you are, that’s better.” He carried on rubbing, while Harriet watched and dozed slightly, and eventually he’d managed to get the boy back to sleep. He settled him carefully back into his crib, hushing and soothing until he’d got him settled down, and then took the other seat in the nursery, the comfortable armchair that made him think longingly of his flat in Mayfair and the evenings he’d spend with Aziraphale while they looked after Johnathan.

“Have you got any children, Nanny?” Harriet asked sleepily, starting Crowley a bit- he’d thought she was asleep.

“One,” he said softly, staring down at the carpet. Johnathan would be asleep now, Aziraphale’s angelic presence soothing him into restful sleep and dreams of whatever he liked best. “He lives with his father. I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She seemed it. Crowley wished he’d thought of some other way to influence the Antichrist, one that would allow him to go home at night.

-/-

Johnathan was a big baby- not in a fat way, exactly, though he was as wonderfully chubby as he’d been the night they took him- but seemingly built on a slightly larger scale than the average eighteen month old. He didn’t seem to  _ realize _ his size- admittedly, few babies did in any conscious sort of way, but Warlock at least seemed vaguely aware of his in some way that Johnathan wasn’t.

He was ill-coordinated and fumble-prone, moreso than to be expected. And he fell over his own feet a  _ lot, _ even for a toddler. Aziraphale tended to keep him on the grass while he worked, unwilling to risk him skinning his pudgy knees or elbows on the pavement if he should fall, but it was getting harder to keep him in place now that he had a little bit more mobility and was able to explore more than before.

There was also another problem: now that his generic babyness had worn off and he was starting to show individual features, he was beginning to favor more and more his biological father, who also so happened to be their  _ employer. _ Aziraphale had spoken to Thaddeus Dowling a grand total of twice, so he hadn’t noticed, but  _ Crowley _ had. He saw Dowling frequently, when he was around. And he could see his son in that square jaw, the big hands and broad frame.

“We’ve got a problem, angel,” he said, as soon as he was able to sneak away to the cottage. Johnathan was awake for a change— he barrelled into Crowley’s legs with a shout of “Mumma!” and raised his hands in a silent plea to be picked up, which Crowley immediately obliged. It seemed like Johnathan was bigger every time Crowley saw him, these days; Crowley buried his face in his son’s curls- wild and unruly, just like him- and lamented how much he was missing.

“What problem?” Aziraphale asked. “Has hell got wind of… anything?”

“No, nothing like that- just, when was the last time you saw your employer?”

“Dowling? Oh, it must have been- a few months, maybe? He and Mrs. Dowling were out for a walk in the garden.”

“Right. Well, your son is starting to look like him.”

“What?”

“It’s not that strong a resemblance right  _ now, _ but sooner or later the wrong person is going to take a good hard look and wonder why the gardener’s son looks so much like his employer. There’ll be a scandal. And normally I’m all for a scandal but with everything the way it is right now…”

“Yes, that could cause problems. What do you propose we do?”

“What if we sort of… edited his appearance a bit? You know, made him look a little bit less like Dowling and more like you? A few cosmetic changes.”

“Cosmetic changes,” Aziraphale echoed. He reached for Johnathan, who Crowley handed over only reluctantly, and looked him over. Now that he  _ was _ looking he could see the similarities. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You wanna do the honors or shall I?”

“I’ll do it.” He brushed a hand through Johnathan’s hair, tweaked his nose, smoothed thumbs along his jaw. A few more little touches here and there- “There, I think that shall do the trick. The changes will emerge gradually, so no one will notice the difference right away.”

And he didn’t say, as he handed Johnathan back to Crowley, that he’d made it so that Johnathan would look a bit more like Crowley instead- that he would look like a blend of both of them now.

It was a shamelessly sentimental move, and Crowley would probably object on sheer principal.

-/-

It was Samuel, Brother Francis’s new dogsbody in the gardens, that realized Nanny Ashtoreth was the absent mother that everyone had been wondering about.

(He’d only been there about a week, just long enough to get filled in on all the house gossip, but not long enough to form any opinions of his own.)

He was out in the gardens, finishing helping get everything ready for young Warlock’s upcoming second birthday, when Nanny came out with the child in question. Johnathan had been confined to a playpen while his father worked, and when Nanny and the Dowling boy arrived, he was placed in the playpen as well, and Nanny had scooped up Johnathan with a coo and a kiss to his curls- curls that had, in the last few weeks, started to take on a slightly reddish hue.

Now why had he noticed that, Samuel wondered, eyeing Nanny and toddler while he worked. Brother Francis was returning their tools to the shed; he returned a moment later, and Samuel caught the fond look he gave Nanny and his son before joining them, leaning over the playpen to greet Warlock, who immediately demanded to be held as soon as he saw the gardener.

“All right, young Warlock,” Brother Francis said, and tossed Warlock a little playfully. “Why don’t you come look at how we’ve set up for your birthday, my lad?”

Samuel kept to his work while he watched them, Brother Francis leading Warlock by the hand through the garden and showing him all of their work, while Nanny followed with Johnathan on her hip, passing remarks that Samuel couldn’t hear from his distance but which seemed to make Warlock and Johnathan giggle.

Once Warlock started to get bored, and Johnathan started fussing to be put down, Brother Francis led Nanny into one of the open spaces in the garden, letting the children onto the grass to play while holding out a very gentlemanly hand to Nanny and guiding her to a seat on the bench.

The bench was hidden from view from where Samuel was working, but after a few moments he was able to shift around enough that, if he leaned back, he could just make them out. They were sitting with a respectable amount of space between them, but Samuel could see their hands on the bench, the sides brushed against each other.

He leaned back in and returned to his work. He couldn’t be sure of what he had seen, but it seemed from where he was standing that the staff had all been wrong about their assumptions that Francis had been either widowed or abandoned by Johnathan’s mother.

-/-

“I cleared it with Dowling,” Crowley said, one eye on the two toddlers playing in the grass together. “Nanny has a half-day for Warlock’s birthday, and the day off afterward, to spend time with her family.”

“Brother Francis has managed to secure the entire weekend- I told a little fib about taking Johnathan to London for his birthday.”

“Oh, I told Harriet I wanted the day because it was  _ my _ son’s birthday.”

“Do you think they’ll notice?”

“I don’t see why they would. They haven’t yet, even if we’re not exactly being subtle. But surely someone will realize that we both took off for our son’s birthday on the same day?  _ Surely.” _

“We do spend enough time together that you would  _ think _ one of them would have guessed.”

“Well.” Crowley tried to splay, then frowned when he met resistance from his skirt, and put his knees together with a scowl. “Probably for the best, I don’t want anyone from hell checking in and finding out that Nanny and that angelic Gardener are getting cosy.”

“I am beginning to think no one is ever going to notice anything at all, no matter how obvious we are. We practically lived together for an entire year and no one was any wiser.”

“Good to know for the future.” He scooted closer, leaned in a bit, and was pleased when Aziraphale allowed him to rest his head on his shoulder. “What are we doing for Johnathan’s birthday, then?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips in thought. “What about Paris? Give the boy a bit of culture.”

“Are you saying that because you want crepes?”

“Of course not,” and at Crowley’s disbelieving look, he adopted a prim expression and added, “Though I do feel it’s time we started introducing him to foods besides English fare. He actually does need to eat so it’s our duty as his parents to teach him how to appreciate good food.”

Crowley grinned, and turned to rest his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder instead. “And you want crepes. It’s all right, angel, an outing to Paris sounds nice. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t intend for every chapter to cover a single year, it just sort of worked out that way here. Next chapter should cover about four years, because I’m anxious to get to Tadfield; my plans for that are far more entertaining for me than anything I have in mind for the Dowling era.
> 
> Hopefully I will also be able to give the kids a personality; I don’t know if you guys noticed or not, but I really can’t write babies and toddlers in any way that isn’t incredibly generic.


	4. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnathan is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be the opening to chapter four, but it didn't feel right for it so I isolated it to act as an intermission.
> 
> I had to rely on context clues to indicate whether Johnathan is referring to Aziraphale or Crowley when he says "Daddy", but even in the places it's not clear don't worry about it, it's not actually that important. "Mummy" is always Crowley, despite Aziraphale's insistence otherwise when he was first talking.

Johnathan was three and a half years old, and probably the happiest little boy in the world (according to his daddy, he was also the prettiest little boy in the world, but then Daddy always said that he mustn’t let vanity into his heart, which apparently meant that it was okay for his parents to say he was the prettiest little boy in the whole world, but not for Johnathan to agree with them. Daddy always laughed at him when he said this, and said ‘do as I say, not as I do, eh angel?’).

Johnathan had somewhere between two and four parents. He was pretty sure they must be only two, but there was some mild object impermanence lingering, and so while some days he understood that the severe woman with the tight curls and the slithery man with the tight trousers were both Mummy, and the man with the big teeth and the man with the fancy shirt were both Daddy, other days it seemed as if his parents were four in number.

Johnathan loved books, which Daddy said was because he was his father’s son all the way through. He had a whole shelf of picture books to look at, but he liked being read to more than he liked reading, which Daddy said was because he was his mother’s son all the way through. His favorite book was “The Fish Who Was A Fishy Fish, And I Et It”, about a crocodile trying to catch a fish for his dinner. He liked the part where the crocodile, whose name was Jacko, CHOMPED! the fish right down after finally catching it. He had a stuffed crocodile that he carried with him everywhere, and sometimes his crocodile also CHOMPED! on things, mostly things that annoyed Johnathan. His other favorite book was "Where’s My Cow?", about a farmer trying to find a cow. Johnathan only liked for Mummy to read that one to him, though, because Mummy put all the noises in, and Daddy didn’t do them right. Mummy was always very smug about this when Johnathan said so.

Johnathan’s best friend was Warlock Dowling. Actually, that wasn’t true. Johnathan's _very_ best friend in the _world_ was Fish, the pretty goldfish that Daddy bought for him as a late birthday present after his parents took him to see a whole building full of fish, and he’d wanted to stay forever and ever and ever and watch the pretty fishes swimming in their tanks. Only a few days after that, Daddy brought a whole tank to the cottage and then took Johnathan to a pet store to pick out Fish his very self.

They took Warlock with them when they went. Warlock was Johnathan’s very best friend who wasn’t a fish, though sometimes Johnathan thought they were only friends because they were the only two little boys at the house. Sometimes other little boys and girls would come over, and Warlock would play with them instead of Johnathan, and sometimes Johnathan would play with them too, but they never played with Johnathan instead of Warlock. Once Warlock said this was because he was going to rule the world one day, so Johnathan pushed him over and then cried when Daddy scolded him for it. Johnathan never said he was sorry, because Daddy always said that he should never say sorry if he didn’t mean it, but he thought it later on in his room while he told Fish about it (Johnathan told Fish all of his secrets), and Warlock never said anything else so he liked to think it was forgiven anyway.

Johnathan liked to garden. He had a little planter box on the window of the cottage and a spade and watering can of his very own, and he was growing snow peas in it, because they were easy to grow. Every time one of the other grown ups who worked with his parents came to the cottage, he showed them his little box of sprouts and they oohed and said how proud his daddy must be, to be raising a little gardener of his own, and yes, his plants _were_ very pretty, he was such a smart little man. Johnathan always felt smug about that, which felt a bit like letting vanity into his heart, but Daddy was smug a lot of the time too, so it must be okay.

Johnathan had a tricycle. Mummy had given it to him the same day he gave one to Warlock, because little boys should have tricycles. Warlock’s was red, and Johnathan’s was purple, and had pretty streamers on the handle. Warlock’s had a bell, but Johnathan had a basket, so that was okay. He could put his crocodile in it, so his crocodile could go with them when they rode in the garden. (He wanted to ride them inside the house too, but Warlock always said they shouldn’t, so they never did.)

(Several years later, when he was scared to go out into the world on his own soon and facing those fears by remembering his early years, he would tell his parents about this, and Dad would say, “I thought I taught you to Tempt better than that,” and then laugh.)

Johnathan also had a football. It was yellow with orange spots, and Johnathan had stuck stickers all over it but most of them had worn off. The one and only time he met Mr. Dowling, he’d been chasing the ball around the garden while Daddy worked and Mr. Dowling had been walking in the garden and Johnathan had accidentally kicked the ball at him. His parents had always told Johnathan that he must stay out of Mr. Dowling’s way, but Mr. Dowling didn’t seem to mind. He spent a little time showing Johnathan how to kick the ball so that it would go where he wanted it to go, and when Daddy found them and apologized he’d waved it away and said that it had been a nice way to spend a break. Daddy had fretted for awhile after Mr. Dowling left, but Johnathan decided Mr. Dowling was nice, and showed Daddy what Mr. Dowling had shown him, and Daddy had stopped fretting so much.

Johnathan knew that he was adopted. Daddy had read him a book about a little girl waiting for her daddies to bring home her baby brother, who came from a different mummy and daddy who couldn’t take care of him. Then he and Daddy had told Johnathan that while he wasn’t exactly the same, his own parents hadn’t been able to keep him and so Daddy had taken him instead. They’d said it didn’t change anything, that he was still their own sweet little boy, but they didn’t want to keep this, at least, secret from him.

“And the most important thing,” Daddy said, stroking his hair, “Is that you know we love you _very_ much. No matter what else might happen later on, we love you. Both of us. You must never forget that, because it will never stop being true. And Mummy won’t say it much, but he’ll show it. You just have to learn how to look for it.”

So Johnathan learned how to look for it, and he learned how to hear it in all the ways Mummy didn’t say it- like when he took Warlock and Johnathan to the park and bought them ice creams and let them chase the ducks, or when he got an evening off and came straight out to the cottage to play with Johnathan, or when he picked Johnathan up and tossed him and always, always, always caught him on the way down, or the time he took Johnathan for a ride in his car, which didn’t live at the house with them and went very, very, very fast. Johnathan learned to hear all the ways Daddy said ‘I love you’ without saying ‘I love you’.

Johnathan was, without a doubt, the happiest little boy in the world. He had Fish, and books, and a garden, and a tricycle and a ball and a stuffed crocodile, and a best friend, and two to four wonderful parents who loved him so much they decided to be his parents even when they didn’t have to, and all the time he was growing and learning and becoming more and more than what he already was.

 _And_ he was the prettiest little boy in the whole world. 

His parents said it, so it must be true.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the Johnathan pov sections is fun. Simplifying the narration down and limiting the perspective to things a toddler would notice while still communicating all of the bits of the story I want to come across is a challenge, but my time writing Good Omens fic has apparently been all about experimenting with writing style so that makes sense.
> 
> Johnathan does have object permanence, he just gets a little confused by Crowley/Nanny and Aziraphale/Francis sometimes.


	5. love is a word so small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnathan is a growing boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter compared to the others, but the bit that comes after it feels like the start of the next, so we'll just live with a short chapter.

Johnathan was nearly five, and the question of his education had come up. Aziraphale collected literature on all of the schools in the area, and he and Crowley stayed late into the night looking over their options to decide what the best one would be.

Warlock’s education was also coming into question. His parents were looking into hiring tutors so that he could get the best one-on-one education available, but Nanny was putting the bug into their ear about public school. Crowley’s reasoning, he explained to Aziraphale, was that it would be easier to put the boy into the path of their various agents without it seeming so suspicious to his parents.

Aziraphale then pointed out that, with the groundwork done, if they got Warlock’s parents to put him into public school, they could ease themselves out of direct influence and leave it to their agents. Crowley didn’t like that idea, and swore it was just because hell had  _ expectations _ of him, and then went selectively deaf when Aziraphale pointed out that this had never once stopped him before.

“I miss being a bookseller, my dear,” Aziraphale admitted. “Of course I love Warlock, but I don’t  _ love _ being Francis. The charm has rather worn off, and his robe itches. Don’t tell me you’re attached to being Ashtoreth. You hate wearing breasts, for one.”

“They are a nuisance,” Crowley admitted, scowling at his bosom. “Damn humans and their expectations.” He sighed. “Yes, all right, if that’s what you want. I’ll look into getting my agents in place.”

“Thank you, dear.”

-/-

Johnathan was five, and had just started school. His parents had enrolled him in a nearby public school, one with other children who weren’t connected to big important names and their parents had ordinary jobs like being greengrocers and waitstaff. For the first time he was around children whose parents weren’t so important that their play must be overseen by bodyguards, and whose lives weren’t planned out for them before their birth.

Warlock was not sent to public school— the Dowlings’ reasoning was that it would be better, safer, to have him educated at home, and so tutors were hired. With great care, Aziraphale and Crowley managed to get tutors who worked for them- Mr. Cortese and Mr. Harrison, respectively- and began slowly working on edging Warlock into their instruction. By the time the Dowlings decided Warlock was too old for a Nanny, they would be ready to leave him in other hands.

-/-

In the meantime, Thaddeus Dowling had some time off from work, and was choosing to spend it trying to convince his son to develop an interest in football- American football, that is. Warlock wasn’t particularly interested- he liked throwing a ball around with his dad, of course, but when it came to anything more complicated than throwing and catching (or, being five, chasing the ball that he had completely failed to catch), he immediately lost interest.

His third attempt at this, they happened to be in the garden when Francis brought Johnathan home from school, and the pair stopped to watch as Mr. Dowling attempt to explain a touchdown to his son. Warlock seemed very bored, and when he spotted Brother Francis his interest went out the window. He lit up and ran over to say hello.

“Ah, young Warlock,” Francis said, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair fondly. “And how are you doing on this fine day?”

“My daddy is here, we’re playing football,” he said, gesturing at Thaddeus, who was rather exasperatedly trying to regain Warlock’s attention.

Thaddeus gave up and came over to join them, holding out a hand to shake the gardener’s in greeting. “Brother Francis,” he said shortly. He was never quite sure what to make of the gardener, who he’d never seen doing any actual gardening in all of his time at the estate, for all that the gardens always looked perfect.

Looking around for anything to spark a conversation, Thaddeus spotted the little boy standing next to Francis. He was bigger than Warlock- a good head taller, and twice as wide, for all that if Thaddeus recalled correctly the two were the same age. Thaddeus remembered what that was like, being bigger than all of his peers. He gave the boy a sympathetic smile, and was surprised by the protective hand that Francis wrapped around his shoulders.

“This is your son, right?”

“Yes. Young Johnathan. He’s just come from school.”

“Ah.” Thaddeus wasn’t really sure what else to say, but Warlock was clutching Francis’s robes and he had to get his son’s attention back somehow. Besides, something about the way Johnathan was looking at him that put him in mind of Harriet, back when they were young and before his career had demanded more and more of his attention.

An idea occurred to him. “Would you like to come play football with Warlock and I, Johnathan? It might be more fun if he has someone his own age to play with too.”

Johnathan looked hopefully up at Francis. “Can I, Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” Francis said, hesitating. Feudal spirit, most likely, Thaddeus thought. England had a pretty rigid class system, not at all like America. At Johnathan’s pleading look, though, Francis seemed to relent, and said, “Oh, I suppose it can’t hurt.”

And so Thaddeus Dowling taught Johnathan how to play American football. Johnathan took to it much more readily than Warlock did, but with his friend there to play with Warlock paid more attention to the rules, for all that he still had more fun throwing the ball than anything else.

-/-

A few days later, Thaddeus introduced Warlock to baseball, which he took to more readily- he still liked throwing the ball more than anything, but he liked hitting the ball too. Thaddeus invited Johnathan to play with them again, at Warlock’s behest, but when they went round to ask, Francis informed them that Johnathan was spending a day out with his other parent, who had some time off and was taking the rare chance to spend some time with him.

Thaddeus could sympathize. He didn’t have much time off work to spend with his son, either.

-/-

What Crowley and Johnathan were doing, in fact, was selecting a new tank for Fish, who was getting rather close to outgrowing her current tank. (Crowley was completely lost on how to tell the difference between a girl fish and a boy fish, but Johnathan had started calling Fish her at some point, so that was what they went with.)

“Daddy,” Johnathan said, while Crowley read the labels on various tanks, “Why don’t I have grandparents? Or aunts or uncles or cousins?”

It wasn’t one of the questions Crowley had prepared himself for his son to ever ask, and to stall he said, “Where’s this coming from?”

“At school we were talking about families. And all of the other children have grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Most of them. Don’t you and Daddy have parents?”

Abandoning the tanks for now, Crowley knelt so he could address Johnathan at eye level. (In fact, he was looking up somewhat- Johnathan was tall for his age.)

“You see, duckling, your daddy and I… our families don’t like us very much. Or rather, they don’t like the idea of us together. If they ever found out, about us, about you, about any of it, they wouldn’t be very happy. They could hurt us for it. So we do our best to stay out of their way, and make sure they don’t find out.”

“They would hurt you cause of me?”

“No, dear, no, never.” He pulled Johnathan to him, pressing him awkwardly into a hug despite still kneeling. “They’d hurt us because they don’t like anything like us to exist. Because it’s not in  _ their _ Plan for us to have each other, or you, or any of it. But they wouldn’t hurt us  _ because _ of you.” He reached up and brushed a stray curl from Johnathan’s unruly mop away from his eyes. “But it’s still very important that Daddy and I don’t let our families find out about you, so if we ever ask you to hide, you must listen, and do as we tell you. Do you understand?”

He nodded, and said, much more meekly, “Would they hurt  _ me?” _

“Oh my precious boy.” Crowley hugged him tighter, almost clinging. “I would tear apart heaven and hell from their very atoms before I let any of them hurt you. Don’t worry your pretty head about  _ that.” _

-/-

“The boy’s too normal,” Crowley told Aziraphale, slipping out to see him after Warlock and Johnathan were asleep.

“Wasn’t that the idea?” Aziraphale pointed out. “That means it’s working. My influence is balancing out your influence.”

“No— I don’t mean good or bad normal, I mean… he isn’t showing any signs of having  _ powers. _ He should have— oh, I dunno. When he has a tantrum, he should be able to warp reality so that he was never told no to begin with. And you know Johnathan bullies him—“

“Yes, I’ve had to be very stern with him on that front.”

Crowley waved that away. “They’re just establishing a pecking order, but I mean— Warlock is the antichrist, right? He should be doing more than just crying to Nanny about it. And given that I’m in his dominion I shouldn’t be able to refuse him  _ anything.” _

“You don’t, though,” Aziraphale pointed out. “You spoil him terribly.”

“Oh, that’s just doing my job of nurturing the evil in him. But that’s what I’m getting at— I shouldn’t be  _ able _ to refuse him. But I can, you know, when I feel like it. He isn’t able to exert dominance over me.  _ As he should be able to do by now.” _

“So what are you saying?” Aziraphale asked. “You think he’s  _ not _ the antichrist? How could that be so?  _ You _ delivered the baby— well,  _ handed him over. _ It’s not like he was  _ misplaced _ while your back was turned.”

“Well,  _ no, _ but—“ And Crowley froze, eyes widening as a thought occurred to him.

“Crowley? What is it?”

_ “There was a third baby,” _ Crowley said hoarsely.

“ _ What?” _

“At the convent. There was a third baby. Remember? We met him. At Johnathan’s first birthday— and I…” He paled. “Oh  _ no.” _

“What’s wrong, my dear?”

“The nun— the one that I handed the baby off to— and I assumed that the man on the steps, but he wasn’t, was he? And I never thought about it, and I just— oh, oh no.”

“Crowley, you’re making me uneasy.”

_ “Warlock isn’t the antichrist, angel.” _

“Oh. Oh dear.”

-/-

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the name because it's close to Johnson.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @grifalinas if you wanna hit me up.


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